i’m in the process of writing a beauyasha oneshot, so here’s a little excerpt of a scene i like with some art.
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Yes, AO3 is the gay porn bookstore, but take a moment and think about why that is.
People have been writing non-straight ships for as long as they've been writing fanfic. There are great-grandmothers out there who wrote about Kirk/Spock or the Beatles or the Monkees. There were zines and mailing lists and conventions long before the internet existed.
So why is there such a disparity? Why is AO3 the place that has more non-straight ship fic than other popular fic sites?
The same reason why AO3 has more RPF than those sites. The other sites took it down.
Look at any timeline of fandom purges and you'll see that it was the non-straight fic that was always the first to go. Two men holding hands or kissing in a fic would probably be rated G nowadays, but not that long ago the moment a fic had slash, it was rated M.
Think about that. Gay characters existing in a fic was enough to rate it "adults only." And this isn't long ago.
Part of the reason why there isn't more gay fic is that a lot of people really do write straight ships. But part of it is that gay fic was actively removed from a lot of sites, deleted without the author's knowledge or permission.
Of course AO3 is the gay porn bookstore. It's the site where authors who wrote that kind of fic moved to when all the other sites threw them out.
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2) iii) Prinxiety
Flower shop AU: (this is also a good way to incorporate flower meanings eg, buying certain colours/types for person to represent feelings etc.)
It was Roman’s self-appointed job to decorate his and his roommates’ flat with flowers every week. He also sent a few flowers to his mother every month, and of course had a bouquet ready for all his dates. He had yet to find the guy he was destined for, but not for a lack of trying.
He had frequented the small flower shop a block away from his flat for a year now and had found it superb for all his needs. He had of course studied up on flower language and always made very specific demands of the elderly manager. The smiling old man never had a bad word to say about it. Indeed, he and Roman had struck an amicable friendship, and he treated the theatrical man as somewhat of a grandson, always asking after his friends and family. Roman too had a special spot in his heart for the sweet grandpa.
However, today something was different. Roman had opened the door to the shop, the familiar jingle announcing his presence to the man behind the counter. He had been about to greet the old man, when he stopped in surprise, his heart skipping a beat.
Instead of Mr Sanders, a man Roman had never seen before was standing behind the counter, carefully tying together white heathers, christmas roses, azaleas and mixed zinnias. But Roman hardly paid attention to the bouquet.
The man was skinny, almost frail looking, and had a terrible hunch, but something about him was utterly enchanting. Maybe it was the pale hands, those long fingers that treated the flowers so gently, as if they were the most precious things in the world. Maybe it was the slightly messy hair, with the fringe almost covering those deep, dark eyes. Or maybe it was the eyes themselves. Maybe it was the glittering darkness, the deep thought reflected in them, that after a second turned to him.
“Yes?” the man asked, and Roman was struck with how low his voice was. It sounded unused, almost gravelly, but somehow Roman still got shivers.
“Who are you?” Roman breathed, still reeling from the sudden shock the man had introduced into his system. The glittering eyes narrowed slightly, and the corners of the man’s lips tugged down.
“Not really your business,” he replied shortly. Roman immediately felt the numbing wonder slip away, and instead a feeling of indignation rose in his chest. He straightened up and gave the rude florist a light glare.
“As a frequent customer, I feel I have the right to know what happened to Mr Sanders.”
The man opened his mouth, probably about to say something along the lines off “I don’t care”, before he stopped and blinked. His eyes focused on Roman again and there was a brief flash of recognition.
“You’re… you’re that weirdo, Romano or whatever, right?” he raised an eyebrow.
“Ro-, Romano!?” Roman screeched, offended. “My name is Roman! Ro. Man.”
The florist seemed to suppress a smirk, and Roman immediately got the feeling that he had done that on purpose. Was it a test or something? Nonetheless, he was still feeling indignant, and he had yet to receive an answer as to where the sweet old manager was.
“Now, tell me! Where is that darling old man, and why has he been replaced by someone as wretched as you?” he looked around, as if waiting for the elderly florist to pop up from behind one of displays.
The man behind the counter sneered, before carefully starting to finish up the bouquet in his hands.
“Not that it is any of your business, but the old man’s in the hospital,” he muttered, gently adding some bells of ireland to finish off the bouquet. Roman’s eyes widened in horror at the news.
“What!? What happened? Is the poor man alright? Which hospital? I need to go and visit!” he started babbling. pacing back and forth within the shop, the florist watching him with an unimpressed look on his face.
“Dude, chill. The man’s old. He broke his hip and has a few weeks off,” he tied a purple ribbon around his finished bouquet. “So you’ll have to be satisfied with little old wretched me.”
Something in the man’s voice caused Roman to stop pacing. He turned back to the florist and to the bouquet in his hands, finally calming down enough to put two and two together. White heathers for protection, christmas roses for calming anxiety, azaleas asked the receiver to take care of themselves, mixed zinnias meant the sender was thinking of an absent friend, and the bells of ireland were for good luck.
Roman looked at the man in a new light. Those dark eyes looked warmly at the flowers in his hands, each one carefully picked out for the receiver, the bouquet full of thoughts and meanings and well wishes.
“Oh, you remind me of my grandson!” the old man laughed, all the while spinning the yellow coreopsis into the bouquet Roman had ordered. Roman laughed too and leaned on the counter, looking at different ribbons he could choose from.
“Grandson?” he asked absentmindedly. The man smiled warmly.
“My daughter adopted him.Of course, after the accident, I was the one to raise him, but I think I did a good job,” he chuckled. “He can be quiet, and perhaps not the most social youngster you see nowadays. He always wears dark clothes and tends to be sarcastic more than anything else-”
Roman looked up in bewilderment.
“He sounds nothing like me!” he exclaimed, almost offended to be compared to someone so… drab-sounding. The florist picked up the bright orange bow Roman had chosen and tied it to the mother’s day -bouquet.
“Perhaps not on surface level,” he admitted, still smiling, “but both of you have big hearts. Both of you care for others, sometimes more than you should,” he gave Roman a wink. He was clearly referring to the amount of money that went into all these flowers, and the dent it left in Roman’s wallet.
“You can never care too much!” Roman laughed. “Though I admit, your grandson does sound interesting. What’s his name?”
The man looked up in surprise, and Roman met his eyes, almost as surprised. So this was the grandson.
“How did-?” Virgil started.
“Your grandfather mentioned you. Those are for him, right?” Roman nodded at the flowers in the other’s hands. Virgil glanced down, and Roman could see a faint blush of embarrassment on his cheeks. The rush, from when he first saw the man behind the counter, returned.
The narrow, pale face, half hidden behind the flowers, was flushed. The eyes, barely visible from behind the hair and the pale petals, glittered and reflected the warm light coming through the windows. And that same light shone on his hair, making Roman notice the previously hidden faint purple highlights. Truly, the man was quite enchanting, in a way that was completely new to Roman.
“Could I come deliver them with you?” he finally asked breathlessly.
Virgil chewed on his lip for a second, before making a gesture somewhere between a nod and a shrug. He still had an embarrassed look to him, but a small smirk was lifting the corners of his mouth.
Phew! I had my friend read this to make sure it was okay, but I still don’t know how to feel about it. I felt kind of absentminded when writing it, but oh well, let’s hope you still find enjoyment in it!
Tag list (let me know if you want on or off the list at any point! This is the general tag list, there’s another one for the Fake Dating AU):
@irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @474118 @frigglishsprite413 @wolfishhel @deathshadowrules @bubblycricket @monikastec @ai-logical @littlemiracle05 @spaceacesam @mystrangedarkson @lexboydfandompanda @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms @anony-phangirl
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You know Scott Huffman's character was married, right? Did you consider that when you wrote that response?
Nonnie, I'm very well aware that his character is married with a child with another on the way. That's why I tag him as a DILF when I reblog gifs or photos of him.
Did you consider that I was merely having fun responding to a fantasy regarding a rarely written character and that is an AU? That maybe my version of Scott that I wrote last night is not just a creep having an affair? Most of my followers know that cheating between main couples isn't my cup of tea to write.
If you are coming into my asks trying to guilt me for writing anything that I choose, you picked the wrong blog. Thanks!
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75 and 48 please!
75. bed sharing
48. fake dating
how do u kno what i luv
One bed. One, full-sized, impeccably made bed. Staring at it, Marinette could feel the grip on her bag grow tighter, feel her chest rise as she held in a breath, unsure of what to say. Next to her, she can hear a thud as Adrien’s bag hits the floor. Another moment, and he’s stepping around it, entering the room. Turning his head, he looks at her, waiting for her to join.
Marinette exhales with her step towards him, a hand reaching behind her to grab the doorknob and close the door. The door closes with a harsh snap, amplified by the quiet. Closed in together, with nothing but the shuffling of their feet on the carpet providing noise, Marinette searches for something to say.
“Alya was watching while I booked the room,” she says, hoping it’ll soothe the situation.
“I guess it makes sense then. She would’ve guessed something was up if we didn’t, so…”
“Yeah,” Marinette finishes. “I know it’s tough pretending all the time, and you would’ve preferred we didn’t have to, but – “
“It’s fine,” Adrien interrupts. “Thank you… for helping me out.”
“Anything for you, Adrien. I know how tough it is convincing your dad of anything, so it’s crazy we’ve gotten this far,” Marinette says. Shesmiles, taking a few more steps to finally join his side once more. Looking at the bed, she bites her lip, wondering how they’d get through the night.
Clearing his throat, Adrien motions to the space next to the bed, a clear patch of carpet that still had vacuum lines from the most recent housekeeping check-in. A space just barely fitting his height.
“I don’t suppose you’ll be fine if I sleep on the- “ he starts, before Marinette hand comes up to stop him, a quick motion that silences him without much effort.
“Don’t even suggest it, Adrien,” she says. “You’re not sleeping on the floor, not when you have to be on the runway tomorrow. If anything, I will.”
“No way. You are not going to spend the night on the floor, Marinette. Did you forget you’re going to be backstage tomorrow, helping out?”
“I’ll be fine,” she assures him, even as she knows there’s a falter in her voice. Marinette was never one to get a good night’s rest with a schedule as loaded as hers, and spending the night on the floor would do little to help.
But, she would be damned if a good night’s rest meant sentencing Adrien to a night on the floor. So, against all her better judgement, she looked up at him and narrowed her eyes, challenging him to counter her.
“If you really think you’ll be fine sleeping there, then I should join you on the floor, Marinette.”
“Absolutely not,” she says, incredulous. “You’re sleeping on that bed.”
“Not if you aren’t too.”
“Fine,” Marinette says, a resolution coming out too soon for her brain to process. “Then I guess we’re both sharing the bed.”
For a moment, Adrien and Marinette kept steady eye contact. A gaze between the two, where whatever followed would set the course for the rest of their week together and paint the path to how far would their fake relationship descend into.
What followed, for only a brief second, was a glance down. Adrien’s eyes finding an unmapped territory on Marinette’s face, a part of her he had yet to truly experience.
A look down at her lips, which were parted slightly, as if in an open invitation for him to take.
He glances away sooner than she can process it, running a hand through his hair and looking at the bed.
“Well, I guess we better get ready for the night. Want me to run you a bath?”
“Um… yeah,” Marinette manages to get out. She feels her cheeks burn, but tries to ignore the feeling, hoping the dim lighting won’t give her away. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” he says, making for the bathroom. Turning to look at her, he throws one quick wink before entering. “That’s what boyfriends do, right?”
“Yeah,” Marinette says, once he’s gone and she can hear the water start up. “What boyfriends do.”
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3iii logicality I can so see that
3) iii) Logicality
The library’s pretty empty save for you and me and OH that couple making out loudly in the shelves somewhere.
Logan learned to read very young. He was also one of the few boys in his class that read for pleasure, who loved to sit back and enjoy the written word. His schoolwork was always good, but his essays especially got a lot of praise from his teachers. He was clear, concise, showed his sources and all in all wrote textbook perfect answers. He loved doing research and loved learning facts, whether useful or less so. The world was his oyster and he wanted to know everything he could about it.
As such, it is no wonder Logan spent most of his time in libraries. Some people joked about how a library was his version of heaven, and he would readily agree “if heaven exists, that is”.
The current library the man was occupying was special however. It wasn’t big, nor was it the best stocked, or even the shortest distance away from his flat. By all means, for purely logical reasons, Logan should not be there. But sometimes logic took a backseat, like when Logan first saw the cute librarian.
Patton (as Logan had read on his nametag) was a very sweet guy, with a few weird quirks that Logan sometimes raised an eyebrow at. The consistently smiling man was well liked, by both children and adults. Once a week some younger kids came to the library after school to hear him read some new fantasy story to them. He had amazing recommendations for cookbooks for the parents as well, and seemed to be the confidant of every single tired mother in the neighbourhood.
When he had time to relax behind the counter, he would either read those inane children’s stories himself, or he’d actually (and this was what Logan truly had trouble comprehending) flip through dictionaries. The weird man seemed to like learning big, complicated words for no other reason than for the heck of it. Logan, damn his illogical heart, found it adorable.
As he read up on some interesting astronomy facts, Logan could not help but steal a small glance at the man. He had been coming to this library for almost a month now, yet he had barely held a conversation with Patton. They’d exchange greetings, Patton would make a few comments on his book choices or the weather or even the fact that they “have the same glasses!” Logan tried his best to answer in kind, but social interactions had never quite been his forte, and so he tended to give one-word-answers before scampering off to his nook. He knew he was not only failing at being a human, but was coming off as rude. Thankfully his standoffish nature did not deter Patton and Logan was still treated to those beautiful smiles.
Logan swallowed and quickly turned back to his book, trying not to stare.
After a few minutes of silence, he saw from the corner of his eye how Patton welcomed a couple in. It was a quiet day, and apart from Logan, the two were the only visitors that day. The librarian then took one of those completely inefficient “dusters”, that Logan knew really only moved the dust around and did nothing to actually clean anything, and started dusting off the shelves. He was slowly moving towards the nook Logan occupied, all the while smiling absentmindedly.
“Interesting book?” he asked quietly, while starting on the shelf closest to Logan.
“Quite,” Logan nodded. Immediately he realised he was once again being rude, but Patton hardly noticed.
“Astronomy, right? Any facts I should know?” he smiled warmly. Once again it took the nerdy man by surprise by how someone could be so genuinely interested in whatever he was doing. Did he mention his social ineptness yet?
“Oh, um, well…” Logan thought for barely a second, “Did you know that shooting stars aren’t actually stars? They are usually just tiny dust particles or rocks falling through our atmosphere and they vaporize due to the heat of friction with the atmospheric gases. Earth sometimes passes through cometary orbits. As comets travel around the Sun, they leave behind dust trails. When Earth encounters that dust, we see an increase in meteors as the particles travel through our atmosphere and are burned up. That is how we get ‘meteor showers’.”
Patton blinked a few times and for a moment Logan thought he’d once again scared someone off, but the the other man tapped his chin in thought.
“Can I still make a wish on them, though? Would it even work, since they aren’t actually stars?”
Now it was Logan’s time to blink. What a nonsensical question to ask. He opened his mouth to remind the clearly confused librarian of the fact that wishing upon stars did not actually work, when an unfamiliar sound made him stop. Patton seemed to have heard it too, and they both frowned in confusion and tilted their heads to hear better.
There it was again. Logan frowned even more, but Patton’s face suddenly flamed red.
“Oh!” he let out a surprised, high pitched breath. Logan was about to ask what the problem was, when his brain caught up with him. A couple had come in, he and Patton could hear sounds, no, moans, from a few aisles over and Patton looked like he was about to faint from embarrassment.
“Oh…” he swallowed. He could feel his own cheeks burning up. “Um, uh, well…”
Neither one could quite meet the other’s eyes anymore. Never before had Logan felt quite as awkward, not even that time his mom had tried (in her misplaced kindness) to set him up with the guy from the corner store. And that had been awkward.
He’d never be able to show his face here again. After something as socially awkward as this, human psychology suggested that he and Patton would never again be able to interact normally, without this experience hanging over them. No more smiles, or casual conversation (no matter how little he had actually contributed) and no more eye contact. In fact, just seeing the other would remind them of today, and that would just embarrass them both. Perhaps Logan should quit coming here.
“Gue-, guess the chances of something like this happening aren’t quite as astronomical as previously thought.”
Logan swung his head around to gape at the still blushing librarian. Patton still looked mortified, hearing the… activities… of the couple, but he also had a sort of mischievous smile lifting the corners of his lips. Logan could not help but stare in astonishment. Did this insane man just make a pun? Why? Who does that?
“I guess they couldn’t book a room on the moon,” he tried again. Logan however did not get the joke.
“Book-, book a room? On the-, the moon?” he tried to wrap his mind around this bizarre turn of events.
“Yes. I guess the moon was full.”
And the sheer audacity to make such awful puns, while Logan was here feeling awkward, and the way Patton’s eyes twinkled in delight, it all made Logan feel… something. He felt his lips twitch despite himself. Perhaps it was nerves.
“I’d Apollo-gize for these puns, but I thought an astro-nut like you would appreciate them,” Patton giggled. At this point Logan had quite forgotten about the loud couple. He was too focused on the god-awful puns the other was forcing him to listen. This was torture, surely.
Yet… he could feel himself smiling.
“At least you’re not too Sirius to take a joke.”
“Hah!” and Logan was gone. He started giggling, and he couldn’t stop, and god why? Why had that awkward, potentially traumatizing situation turned into this? He hated puns! He had always said so!
“Sun, it just dawned on me, that perhaps we should give those star crossed lovers some space. Want to go grab an early lunch?”
“Yes, please,” the answer came without a second thought. Logan was really in too deep, or, perhaps as Patton put it a few months later: “over the moon”.
And another prompt done! My first Logicality turned out quite how I expected it to. A lot of puns. I can’t stop. So sorry.
Anyway, hope you like it!
Taglist (tell me if you want on or off the taglist! This one is for all my writing, but I have a separate for the Fake Dating AU):
@irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @474118 @frigglishsprite413 @wolfishhel @deathshadowrules @bubblycricket @monikastec @ai-logical @littlemiracle05 @spaceacesam
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any recs for fics like sobsicles’s? i’ve read all their stuff but i miss them
hi anon- I suggest works by fleeceframe, unicornpoe, lagaudiere, sleepyvan, and cenotaphy who are all putting out incredible stuff for the fandom right now (mostly post-canon!) I always keep an eye on their profiles looking for new releases! Here are some favs from those authors, though you cannot go wrong with anything written by them:
closer (isn't close enough) and the entire accompanying series, dean saves the world and now he gets to be happy
handlebars for tender touch
it's such a mystery (the way you know me)
in this louisiana bar
hold onto your voice, hold onto your breath
and you can use my skin
my heart a compass
fools and pilgrims
their entire series of season 15 fix-its (bring home is one of my all-time favs!)
built to roam
we'll find a new home (the costco fic!!!!!)
good times are calling
happy reading- and be sure to leave these authors some love! I absolutely adore all of them and they deserve the hype <3
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Hi! I would love if you could write something for supercorp with “I hope our kid takes after you.”. Thank you!
some v domestic supercorp from the prompt list! (happiness 12 I believe)
"I hope our kid takes after you."
Lena’s not quite sure when Kara’s kitchen became her own.
She knows where every dish is, knows where Kara keeps her spices, her utensils, her canned goods. There are things in the fridge that are hers, crackers in the cupboard that Kara bought because she likes them. It’s possible she knows Kara’s kitchen better than she knows her own, at this point, considers it as much hers as she does Kara’s.
She rarely cooks at her apartment. She tells herself she doesn’t have the time, opting for takeout or frozen meals instead. But it’s become something of a routine to cook at Kara’s, and often several nights a week finds them holed up in Kara’s kitchen, trying new recipes and arguing about vegetables. It was an easy transition from their old routine of weekly restaurant or bar hangouts—just one night where Lena was too tired to go out and Kara suggested this instead of calling off the occasion completely.
Somewhere along the way, it became their new normal.
Lena’s standing at the stove, stirring a pot of lentil curry. It’s one of the only completely vegan dishes that she can convince Kara to eat, so she makes it as often as she can whenever she cooks. Outside, the November wind moans, blowing uneven patters of rain across the windows of Kara’s kitchen. It’s warm and dry inside, though, the air spiced by the stew, the kitchen lights soft and orange. The radio’s on, faintly playing ABBA songs, and Lena hums quietly along as she stirs. At the sink, Kara washes the dishes as Lena dirties them, her hair tied back in a messy bun at the nape of her neck.
The song ends, and the next one begins: Andante, Andante, in its sweet swinging rhythm.
“Oh, I love this song,” Lena says, swaying as she stirs. She abandons the curry when the lyrics begin, still holding the wooden spoon as she spins slowly around the kitchen to the rhythm, holding out her arms as though dancing with an invisible partner.
Kara turns to watch her, grinning and leaning her elbows back on the edge of the sink, and Lena reaches for one of her sud-soaked hands as she passes by. Kara laughs and stumbles after her. She ducks under Lena’s arm in a messy spin and then pulls herself close, her other hand finding Lena’s hip. They waltz around the kitchen, Kara lifting her arm to spin Lena this time as she sings along to the few words of the song she knows, Andante, Andante.
It’s the kind of moment in time that stretches, unhurried and unimportant but sweet like honey. The kind of moment where it feels like there’s nowhere and no one else in the world.
“You’re so perfect,” says Kara, smiling as they sway together. “I hope our kids take after you, some day.”
Lena hums, the swell of joy warm and soft in her chest. Kara’s hand sits comfortable on her hip as the music swells, too, and they sing along and laugh and spin around and around in the warm bubble of their kitchen in a way that feels infinite, in a way that seeps light into every dark corner.
The song ends, and Lena breaks away, dragging her hand away from Kara’s slowly until only their fingertips touch and then break apart, reaching for each other across empty air. She laughs, turning back to her curry. It takes until Kara, doing dishes again, drops a bowl and curses softly for her to register the words properly.
“Kara?” she says, hands freezing on the lid of the rice she’s putting on.
“What was that you said? When we were dancing?”
Kara looks up at her, confused. She seems to struggle to remember for a moment, and then her face brightens. “Oh! I said I hope our kids take after you. You, know, because you’re perfect, and everything. I want them to be just like you. Sweet and smart and fun and kind.”
“Okay,” says Lena. “Right. That’s what I thought you said.”
“Great.” Kara turns back to her dishes.
“You don’t see anything… weird about that statement?”
Kara’s hands pause in the sink, and she looks up, nodding her head slightly as though replaying the words in her mind. Then her eyes go wide.
She says, “Oh my god.”
Kara claps a dripping hand to her mouth. “I said… and I haven’t even…”
“Our kids,” Lena says. “Our kids.” She grins, and there’s something in her chest expanding, growing warm and bright and alive. “When were you planning to tell me I knocked you up, Miss Danvers?”
“Shut up,” laughs Kara. “Fuck.”
“One thing, Kara.”
“People who want kids together are usually married. Or at least dating.”
“Generally, yes, I think that’s a fair statement.” She’s turned around again to look at Lena, leaning back on the counter with a sweet smile on her face. Lena props her spoon up on the inside of the pot and moves to stand in front of her, her fingers grazing across Kara’s forearms.
“Is that a dream of yours?” she asks. “Having kids with me one day? Something you think about when you’re falling asleep? Growing old and… becoming grandparents and… waking up together every morning, forever?”
And Lena isn’t sure whose late-night fantasy she’s describing, because it’s a dream that’s come to her, too, in the delirious, half-awake moments where she let herself believe it possible.
Kara’s arms drape around her waist, pulling her closer so they’re pressed together, Lena’s hands curled against her chest. “Sometimes,” she whispers.
“I didn’t know you felt that way, darling.”
“Didn’t you, though?” Kara smiles softly. “We do this multiple times a week, you basically live here. Everyone’s half convinced we’re dating already. I’d probably spend every night like this, if I could.”
Lena brushes a hand across her cheek, thinking that she could easily fall into nights like this for the rest of her life, and murmurs, “So would I.” When Kara leans into her palm, she adds, “I’m not sure I’m quite ready for kids yet, though.”
“We could start smaller,” says Kara.
“Yeah? How’s that?”
“I think, usually, before they think about having children together, people start with a kiss.”
“Oh, is that so?” says Lena.
“Yup. That’s step one.”
“A kiss.” Lena studies Kara’s features from an inch away, lets her fingers roam feather soft across them: the set of her blue eyes, the flutter of her fair eyelashes, the divot of a scar beside her eyebrow. She runs her thumb over Kara’s lips. “I think I could manage that.”
They have a penchant for doing things out of order, thinks Lena. Because it’s after they’ve been doing something like dating for years, after she’s learned every nook of Kara’s home and heart like they’re her own, after they’ve discussed having children and growing old together, that they share their first kiss.
Her hands slide into Kara’s hair as she sinks into it, like the final piece of a puzzle piece falling into place, and they kiss to the background track of rain on the windowpanes, the fan on the stove, ABBA still singing in the background.
On the stove, the rice bubbles over, long forgotten.
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7) ii) For Prinxiety? I dunno, I just see Princey as the guy who's talking then Virgil just keeps rejecting until he finally gives in mostly 'cause he likes Princey. But upto you on how you wanna do this.
7) ii) Prinxiety
My homophobic parents are coming to visit will you pretend to date me as an extra “fuck you”?
“Oh, come on Virgil. I’m asking you nicely,” Roman whined. He was sprawled on top of Virgil’s bed, as he had been for the past twenty minutes. Virgil rolled his eyes and leaned back in his desk chair, his sketchbook slowly filling up with different doodles, mostly of “prince” Roman fighting dragons (at the drama queen’s own request).
“Why do you insist on trying to start a war with your dad?” he drawled, starting to shade the dragon and adding a wand and a witch’s hat to it. This conversation had been going on for the past half an hour and he was only half-listening to his friend at this point, focusing more on the fact that a “dragon-witch” made no sense whatsoever.
Roman had come in unannounced almost an hour before and had proceeded to rant about his “asshole-dad with his asshole-opinions”. His parents belonged to that terrible group of people who were ignorant and bigoted, but worst of all, did not acknowledge that they were ignorant and bigoted. They’d say stuff like “we aren’t against the gays”, yet voted no to equal marriage and would worry about “teaching that stuff to kids”. They said they felt uncomfortable watching “them” hold hands, or show any form of affection in public really. They’d mention casually how they thought too liberal parents “turned” their kids gay and Virgil and Roman had not even touched upon their opinions on gender. Of course, they had also completely ignored Roman coming out of the closet a year or so ago (if you didn’t count the two weeks of silent treatment from his dad), and would still try to set him up on dates with girls.
From what Virgil had gathered before he started tuning Roman out, he’d just gotten off the phone with his mother. His parents were coming to visit and his mother had been very eager to plan some blind dates for her son. Roman had repeatedly told her it was unnecessary, until his dad had gotten on the phone and made a comment on how it was time for Roman to find a nice girl to settle down with and start a family.
After the first half an hour of ranting and pacing a hole in Virgil’s carpet, the dramatic man had finally collapsed onto his friends’ bed. And then he’d gotten the dumbest idea in the history of dumb ideas, as far as Virgil was concerned at least.
“Hey you should totally pretend to be my boyfriend. Might finally drive the truth straight, or gay, through their thick skulls.”
Virgil finished up his drawing with a small satisfied hum and closed his sketchbook. Roman dramatically (Virgil was starting to doubt the man could do anything normally) rolled off the bed and gave a groan.
“I don’t want to have a war. I just want to get them to back off. Please?” he gave Virgil the biggest eyes and poutiest lips he could muster. The purple-haired man immediately turned his face away to avoid eye contact. Roman knew all his weaknesses.
“You do realise it could backfire, right? Like, terribly. People have disowned their kids for this shit…” he muttered. He himself had been lucky in that he had never really had to come out to his parents. Then again, them dying before he’d plucked up the courage had been the unlucky part. Most days he tried not to think too much about it. Those thoughts never led to anything good.
Roman gave a sigh and stared at the ceiling from his position on the floor. For the first time since he stormed in earlier he looked like he was actually calmly thinking about it all. Virgil let him, not saying a word, yet he couldn’t help but stare at him from the corner of his eyes.
Roman was probably the prettiest person he knew, with high cheekbones, strong jaw, straight nose, thick, shiny hair and a healthy tan with stray freckles on his cheeks. His eyelashes were long and the eyes they covered were a beautiful brown, and they glimmered in the light like liquid gold. They always looked ridiculous standing next to each other. One was the living embodiment of the modern Disney-prince while the other looked like a reject from a Tim Burton movie.
Virgil wondered whether Roman had any idea what kind of a position he was putting his friend in when asking him to be his fake boyfriend. Of course. as the anxious wreck he was, he wondered whether Roman actually knew about his lame crush. Maybe this was a way for him to see if his suspicions were true. Maybe he’d laugh at Virgil’s naivety-, no. Virgil knew Roman well enough to know he’d never laugh at Virgil, but he still couldn’t help but worry for the worst-case-scenarios. Even if Roman didn’t know about the crush, acting as his boyfriend would surely expose him.
“I do get what you’re saying…” Roman mumbled from the floor and Virgil was dragged back to reality. “I just think it’s something I have to do. I’d rather get disowned then having them deny a part of me. I want to be wholly rejected, or wholly accepted, but I don’t want to be only half of who I am,” he kept staring at the ceiling, his fists clenching and unclenching, his brow furrowed ever so slightly.
Virgil stared down at the other. While Roman spoke in his usual confident tone, there was a vulnerability behind it, a longing Virgil knew well. Roman was scared of the whole thing, but he wanted to be himself, and Virgil… how could Virgil deny him that?
“Fine,” he sighed. He ran his hand through his hair and tried not to think about the horrible, horrible dinner he had just agreed to. The things he did for love. Ew.
Roman sat up and stared at Virgil with wide eyes.
“Wait, really?” he gaped. Virgil hunched up his shoulders and gave a shrug,trying his best to come off as indifferent.
“You owe me though. I get to decide on the next three movie-nights.”
“Yes!” Roman stood up and immediately glomped the other one. “You’re the most spectacularly amazing person alive! Right after me of course, but second place is very acceptable, and oh gosh, this is just perfect! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
Virgil let himself get hugged, while trying to hide his blush. He had a weird feeling, somewhere between happiness for his friend and regret for letting his stupid self agree to the upcoming torture. His stomach didn’t know whether to get in knots or be infested by butterflies at the prospect of… what exactly, he wasn’t sure.
“Oh I could just kiss you!”
Virgil was going to die.
I’m starting to realise what a sucker I am for cliffhangers. Anyways, I hope I did the prompt justice and that you enjoy it! I never thought I’d enjoy writing Roman this much. There is something special about writing about a naturally confident character, but who is still human, with worries and fears.
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(scenes are from this very neat fic)
[click here for image description]
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happiness 16 feels so supercorp to me fjdbcksh
happiness 16 from this prompt list!!
“You once watched me spill Doritos on the floor, eat them, and you still came over and kissed me after you brushed your teeth. If that’s not love I don’t know what is.”
Lena’s stilettos are on the floor.
They’re lying in the entranceway of the apartment when Kara walks in, clearly kicked off and abandoned. Kara stares at them as she unties her own shoes and lines them up by the door, then reaches for Lena’s to do the same. There’s no indication that Lena’s home, other than the discarded shoes, no voice calling out a greeting. But the shoes are there, which means she’s here.
Kara finds her in the living room. Lena’s curled into one end of the couch in Kara’s faded National City University sweatshirt, her knees tucked into her chest, her hair loose around her shoulders. Her hand rests against an empty wine glass on the arm of the couch, fingers drumming lightly. The bottle sits on the table in front of her, at least two-thirds empty.
There are only so many things in the world that cause Lena Luthor to make herself small. Kara’s got most of them memorized, because Lena is generally someone who’s so big in presence, the way she holds herself, her intelligence, her wit, that the moments when she seems small stand out. So, when Lena senses her in the doorway and glances up with a half-hearted smile, it’s fairly easy to guess what’s on her mind.
“Hey,” says Lena, voice hoarse, her finger circling the rim of her wine glass as Kara sits down beside her. The edges of the glass are stained with the remnants of her lipstick. Her lips are stained with the remnants of the wine.
Kara says, “You didn’t tell me you were seeing your mother today.”
Lena gives a small, humourless chuckle. “I didn’t think you’d approve.”
“She’s your mother. You don’t need my approval to see her,” says Kara. When Lena doesn’t respond, she adds, “Okay, I don’t like it when you see her, but that’s only because you’re always hurting when you get back. I do understand why you need to occasionally, though.”
“She wanted to do lunch again,” says Lena, after a long pause, staring into the dregs of her wine. “It wasn’t so bad.”
“The wine says otherwise.”
Lena sighs, leaning forwards to put the glass on the table. “I don’t know. She didn’t say anything particularly awful today. Said L-Corp seemed to be functioning. Told me I looked less downtrodden than usual. It’s just…”
Kara reaches over to tuck a piece of hair behind Lena’s ear. “What?”
“Whenever I see her. It scares me.”
Kara frowns. “What does?”
“It’s—I don’t know. It’s the way she talks to me, about me, about Lex, even about my father, sometimes.” She sits hunched forwards, her hair a dark curtain around her face. “It’s just… I don’t think she’s ever loved a single person in her life. I know she’s never loved me. I don’t think she’s even capable of it. And I get so… so afraid that I’m just like her.”
“Oh Lena,” Kara whispers.
“The Luthors are good at making money. Manipulating people. Getting what we want. Creating things. But love? Not that. It was never important. It made you weak.”
“It doesn’t,” says Kara. “But I’m sure you’ve heard that one before.”
“Mm,” says Lena. “Yeah. It’s a very Supergirl-hope-speech sort of thing to say, isn’t it? Love isn’t weakness, love is strength.” She says the last bit in a high pitch, a poor approximation of Kara’s voice.
“I mean, it’s not wrong,” Kara says. Lena snorts, and Kara squeezes her bicep, runs her thumb across the tense line of Lena’s shoulder. “But… I don’t think that the importance of love is really whether it makes you stronger or weaker. It makes you alive. If you let it, it can make you happy.”
“It comes easier to you,” says Lena, shaking her head. “You, Alex, everyone else. You love everything so much, so easily. I’m not sure I ever really learned how to do that. I’m not even sure I’m capable of it in the same way.”
And it’s true, that while Kara’s life hasn’t exactly been easy, she’s never been lacking in love. She’s had not one loving family, but two. Many, if you count all the other families she’s made along the way. At CatCo, at the DEO, with their shifting pool of friends that come to game nights, with Lena.
Lena, who whispers, “Sometimes I’m afraid that you’ll realize there are people out there who could love you better than I can. People who could make you happier.” She’s not looking at Kara, and Kara sees the pain in her profile, in the way she closes her eyes at Kara’s stunned silence. “It’s selfish, I know,” she murmurs.
“Lena,” says Kara. “Look at me.”
Lena does, her eyes slightly unfocused. She blinks as Kara reaches over and brushes her hair over her shoulder, slides her hand down to lace their fingers together.
“Whatever your family’s like, however you were raised,” she says, squeezing Lena’s hand, “you are one of the most loving people I have ever met.”
Lena makes a sound of disbelief and looks away again.
“I mean it! You pick up my socks whenever I leave them on the floor without ever complaining. You stay up and wait for me every time I’m out late on Supergirl duty, even if you have an early start the next morning. You donate to pretty much every charity I can think of. You’re competitive, but every time we get put on opposite teams at game night you let me win—don’t think I haven’t noticed that.” She nudges Lena’s shoulder with her own, and the corner of Lena’s mouth quirks up. “Just last week, you watched me spill Doritos on the floor, eat them, and you still came over and kissed me after you brushed your teeth. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”
Lena laughs, small but genuine. “I brushed my teeth again, after that.”
“You brushed your teeth twice,” Kara grins. “Just for one extra kiss. Don’t you see? You’re not like them at all. You’re warm, you’re loving, you’re you.”
“Yeah?” says Lena, disbelieving, but hopeful.
“Maybe not everyone is capable of love, I don’t know. Maybe Lillian isn’t—I wouldn’t exactly be surprised. But you are. You give so much of it, to everyone around you. There’s no one in the world who could make me happier, or love me better. I promise.”
Lena looks back over, her smile soft and tired. “I really do love you. So much.”
“I know,” Kara says, squeezing their intertwined hands again. “And you do it so well. Perfectly.”
“Thank you,” Lena whispers. “I love you.”
Kara tilts her head to kiss Lena softly on the forehead. “I love you, too.”
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"This 100% applies to boys too. If a boy is in a abusive relationship, household, etc... then he’s allowed to join." Okay, now i'm imagining that if Sally really did died in TLT, Percy could have joined the hunt to avoid living with Gabe
Based off of these HCs
Oh... damn, I REALLY vibe with this. I love the idea of Percy growing up with the Hunt. Imagine if it was even earlier than TLT too and it was just baby Percy who was on the run and he bumps into Zoë who is very clearly annoyed by him but also he's little and injured and clearly a demigod so whatever she'll bring him to Artemis. And by day #3 with this kid she's sitting there like 'we have to keep him'
MAYBE HE WAS THERE WHEN THEY RAN INTO LUKE, THALIA, AND ANNABETH! Oh, that would be fun, too. I can totally imagine Zoë and Thalia arguing and what not only for 7-year-old Percy to pop up all decked out in silver to start trying to take Zoë‘s side like...
Thalia: I am not leaving Luke behind to join some stupid girls’ club-
Percy: It’s not a girls’ club. I’m here too!
Thalia: what the-? who the Hell are you?
Zoë: This is Perseus. He’s being raised with us.
Thalia: He’s a hunter?
Zoë: Maybe when he’s older, but right now we’re just looking after him.
Thalia: But I thought you didn’t accept boys?
Zoë: Sometimes we do. When they are honorable and worthy or are in need of help.
Percy, puffing out his chest: And I’m honorable and worthy.
Annabeth: you have chocolate on your nose.
Percy: You look like you need help. Do you want to live with us too?
Zoë: Wait. Perseus-
Luke: Personally, I’m always in dire need of help.
Percy: COME WITH ME! You can share my tent. Phoebe made it out of special stuff that glows in the dark-
Zoë: It appears you are staying with us after all.
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Fic writer/reader ask
(particularly for ao3, as I don't think all other sites have the same stats page)
I tried not to add any jealousy or anxiety inducing ones about kudos and those kinds of stats, and keep this fun for everyone with interesting questions!
1. Top 3 fandoms written for (dash - fandoms)
2. Fandom you have most WIPs for
3. Do you have any abandoned works?
4. Are your comment threads (stats-totals) more or less than half of your inbox total?
5. Do you have more works or more bookmarks?
6. Without checking - which tags do you think you've used most?
7. Top 3 tags (works - filters - additional tags)
8. Ever written something inspired by other fanworks?
9. Ever done a collab with another writer or artist?
10. Most used rating (works - filters - ratings)
11. Ever used the 'inspired by' ao3 function?
12. One-shots or multichapters?
13. Most productive year (stats - years -wordcount)?
14. Ever written smut?
15. Do you reply to all comments?
16. Ever had someone make fanart, edits, podfic to your fic?
17. Do you accept (constructive) criticism in the comments?
18. Favorite kinds of comments?
19. Ever had someone write something inspired by your fic?
20. Are any of your stories translated into another language?
21. Do you write in your first or a second language?
22. First fandom you've written for?
23. Any tumblr tags to check if someone wants to find more about your writing?
24. Ever written a translation of your own or someone else's fic?
26. Last sentence you've written
27. Favorite quote from one of your fics
28. Still remember a favorite comment?
29. Ever made a collection and/or series?
30. Do you like writing for prompts, challenges etc?
31. Beta or no beta? What do you ask betas to look for?
32. Written any drabbles (100 word fics) or other exact wordcount challenges?
33. Most used warning, if any? (works - filters - warnings)
34. Ever check your Statistics, if yes what did you look for?
35. What fic or series of yours has the most/longest tags?
36. Standard author's note?
37. Standard end note?
38. Do you cross-post your works on several sites? Where?
39. Do you promote your works other than just posting them? How/why/why not?
40. Favorite story you've written? (in general or for a specific fandom)
A) Ever tried to leave kudos twice?
B) Ever managed! (through an old glitch) to leave kudos more than once?
C) Favorite writers? Feel free to @ if they're on tumblr & you want to make them smile!
D) Ever read on sites other than ao3?
E) Favorite fandom to read fic for
F) Favorite trope(s)
G) Pwp or gen fic?
H) Joined any author's mailing lists?
I) Ever read fic for a fandom without knowing the canon?
J) Shippy fics or character studies?
K) Do you listen to podfic?
L) What's your standard comment?
M) Do you have comfort fics you can re-read again and again?
N) Best fic you've read this week
O) A tag you always click 'exclude' on
P) Do you use author's bookmarks to find more fic you might like?
Q) Latest fic in your search history?
R) Bookmark, subscribe, mark for later or open tabs?
S) Are custom layouts and skins nice or annoying?
T) Sort by date posted, kudos, something else?
U) Check out author's pages or go back to tag search after reading a good fic?
V) ever use the bookmark search instead of the work search?
W) Oldest fic in your search history? (history - scroll down to bottom - click last page)
X) Ever made a fic-rec list?
Y) Any peeves that immediately make you click back out of a fic?
Z) Long fics or short fics? / Favorite fic length?
#) Ever had someone gift a fic to you?
§) A fandom or ship you wish had more fic for you to read
%) A feature you wish ao3 had
Because apparently this needs to be spelled out: as by the title, this is an ask meme! Send asks, not replies, not reblog additions tagging people! Asks!
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Are there any other fanfic writers you look up for/get inspired from? If that's it, who are they?
UM let’s see. i honestly don’t read a lot of fanfics and therefore don’t know a lot of fic writers buuuut i do have a few fics in my bookmarks that i remember going absolutely insane over because of the writing style:
golden (like daylight) by @anna-scribbles
OHHH MY GOD. this fic. i want to hold this fic in my hands and drink from it to have it in me forever. anna has such a beautiful style that’s both poignant and hilarious, and after i read it i remember getting that “i need to write right now” buzz because it left me feeling so inspired. anna in general makes me feel that way
you and me, forevermore by @ladynoirist
so soft and warm and with such a ridiculous and sweet post-reveal pre-relationship dynamic between marinette and adrien. left me with a good taste in my mouth
strangers in the bright lights by @ladybeug
this one is so!!!!! i loved the easy feel of how it was written, as well as the quiet note of sadness that pervaded the whole thing. it has me laughing out loud and also holding my heart in my hands
nikiforov’s law by @lavenderprose
i think about this fic all the time because of how ridiculously and effortlessly funny it is. this one really makes me remember to get my comedy juices flowing because im constantly trying to aspire to how hilarious this fic is
when you’re near by @buggachat
simply put i went balls to the wall insane over this fic. everything buggachat does in general makes me go insane but the absolute YEARNING of this fic. it’s perfect
two idiots and a hamster by @botherkupo and @carpisuns
what really makes this fic for me is just. the dedication to a) the bit and b) being as realistically awkward as humanly possible. maryssa and boogum’s combo writing is also so interesting and inspiring, giving both adrien and marinette distinct voices, and i love it
but yeah! honestly you could check out each of these author’s discography and probably find tons more fantastic work by them, but these are the fics at the top of my bookmarks on ao3 that represent all the things that i want to have in my own writing (which. as you can see is first and foremost being funny. just kidding. kind of)
thanks for asking!!
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6 i) princiety?? ❤️💜
6) i) Prinxiety
You’ve got a date tonight and you asked for advice on what to wear but I’m so in love with you and damn you look good in the outfit I picked out for you
Not for the first time in his life, Roman regretted his choices. He often pretended like he didn’t, but he regretted at least one thing every day, and that was not telling his best friend how in love with him he was. He always made up excuses, saying how his silence was really for the benefit of the other. They were awkward and gloomy and had the worst sense of self worth Roman had ever encountered, and they would be at a loss of what to do if he confessed to them.
One might ask themselves why Roman, the handsome, popular, creative and confident man would like someone like Virgil, but Roman really could not explain it in any way that wouldn’t take three hours. He could go on and on about his silent companion: how his giggles made his heart soar, how his small embarrassed smiles lit up the room, how thoughtful he was, how he was simply the perfect match for Roman.
But Roman never told Virgil, because he was scared. He told himself it was because he didn’t want to scare off his best friend or ruin what they had, which, to be fair, was not a lie. But in reality he was just too scared. What if Virgil did not feel the same?
So he decided to wait. He’d gotten quite good at it too, having been in love with Virgil for three years straight (or gay, really), but now he regretted his silence. Sure, Virgil had gotten a few crushes over the years, but Roman had never felt too threatened, not because other people would not like his chemically imbalanced romance, but because he was confident Virgil would never be able to actually do anything about it. This was the reason he hadn’t taken his new crush at the store too seriously. When Virgil had barricaded himself in his room for a week for the fear of “coming off as a stalker”, Roman comforted him and brought him food. He had been so sure this would be like all the other times, when Virgil ran away from the prospect of human contact, and right back to Roman.
And yet, after those two weeks, the worst possible thing happened. He got a text from Virgil.
Virgil: help i met the guy
Virgil: his name is Patton
Virgil: he invited me to lunch tomorrow
Virgil: pls help me
Virgil: how do i even dress??
The messages kept coming, each one worrying about the different aspects of what could only be called ‘the date’, but Roman stopped reading after a while. Instead he leaned back on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Not for the first time, Roman regretted his choices.
“I look stupid. This is stupid,” Virgil tugged his recently trimmed hair.
Roman glanced at him over his shoulder from where he was looking through his wardrobe. He felt a weird twist in his stomach, a feeling somewhere between butterflies and a knife.
“Are you mocking my hairdressing-skills?” he managed to keep his voice at his usual grandiose tone. Virgil gave a groan and flumped onto Roman’s bed.
“Your skills are fine. I’m the one who-”
“Will look absolutely fabulous!” Roman turned around with a deep purple button down shirt in his hands. He had become quite the expert at interrupting Virgil’s self deprecation.
Virgil rolled to his side to look at the shirt. His eyes held a glimmer of interest, but Roman knew him well enough to know exactly what was going on inside his head. He rolled his eyes and threw the shirt at him, turning back to look for proper pants.
“You can keep your hoodie on, just not zipped,” he laughed. “You need to at least show you made an effort. Here.”
A pair of black jeans smacked Virgil right in the face and he gave Roman the middle finger. He grabbed the pile of clothing and proceeded to the bathroom, all the while grumbling about the futility of the whole exercise.
Once the door shut closed behind him, Roman sat down on the bed and after a second of contemplation leaned back onto the covers with a sigh. His gut was churning uncomfortably and his chest felt heavy, as if a rock was sitting on his lungs. It did not feel as dramatic as he thought heartbreak would. Mostly he felt like he’d caught the flu.
“This was a stupid idea. I look stupid. He’s going to hate me,” Virgil’s voice came through the door. Roman put his feelings-flu on hold and strode to the door. His impossibly dorky emo needed help.
“Oh come on, he is not going to hate you. Come out and show me my creation!”
After the typical groan more befit a teenager, the door slowly opened and Roman stepped back to allow Virgil to step through. Immediately his brain short-circuited.
While there was not a day Virgil did not look amazing in Roman’s opinion, there was something about this look that made all logical thought flee his brain. His hair was nicely combed, his button down shirt was sleek and his jeans pristine. Even his comfort-hoodie had been washed. And his body language was different.
He was still the awkward weirdo Roman knew, but there was a new shade to it: shyness, excitement, cautious happiness. He was a guy awaiting his first date.
“You-, you… look perfect.”
Virgil’s eyes widened and his cheeks darkened. Roman had never said anything quite as sincerely as that, but how could he help it? There Virgil stood, ready to impress his date, the date Roman could have been if only he had… no, it was too late now.
“My greatest creation yet,” he smiled. Virgil’s lips twitched up and he tugged at his hair in embarrassment.
“You’re such a sap.”
Roman felt his stomach twist and churn and he smiled wider.
“Go get him.”
Virgil: HE. KISSED ME. ON. THE CHEEK.
Virgil: i think i’m even gayer
Virgil: guess there’s no limit to my gayness
Roman stared at the texts. He could not stop staring at the texts.
Oh. So this was what heartbreak felt like.
Aand done! I decided to kind of attach this one to the earlier moxiety-ask. Sorry for the unhappy ending. In my defence… you all love angst.
More asks are welcome! I’m getting into this.
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Matt’s implication that Yasha gained levels as a barbarian under Obann that she lost with her memories boosts a theory I have held ever since the day Yasha explained that Obann looked for people it was easy to bring back to life. I heard her say that and I thought “she’s been killed before.”
And the more I thought about it, the more I figured well, you know, we met her at level one or two so Obann must have seen what was possible but never got her to where he needed her.
Except he did and he used her to corrupt ley lines. Do you know the fastest way to corrupt the magic within a ley line? Unwilling sacrifice. An unusual but accurate metaphor would be peeing in a pool - what makes it through the whole body of water might be diluted, but that little alteration to the sum of its parts is still there. That corruption would spread all along the lines of power, far across the land, pushing the hunger further and further.
He killed Yasha, whether directly or by instructing her to do it herself, and then he had someone bring her back - no components required.
And then he took her to the next one.
And the next.
No wonder her mind (or perhaps her god) shunted the memories to protect her.
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R squeezing Natasha’s cheeks and saying how cute she is in front of the avengers, they’re all shocked and scared for R but Natasha just blushes and let’s R continue cause Nat is whipped 😩
Note: Whipped badass gf 😩😩😩
“Be hold! Your favorite Avenger is home!” You announce your presence the moment you set foot to the living room; you’ve just got back from a week-long mission.
“I am my favorite Avenger.” Tony says without looking up from his phone.
Steve gives Tony a look, shrugging, “I don’t play favorite.”
Bucky gets up and pats you on your shoulder, sighs before opening his mouth, “Yeah…not mine either.”
You roll your eyes and ready to go find Natasha, but then she walks into the living room, “Why are you guys being so loud-”
“Natasha!” You raise your hands up high, “Your favorite Avenger is home!”
Natasha welcomes you with a tight hug and mumbles in your ears, “Welcome home, my favorite Avenger.”
Pulling away, you cup Natasha’s cheeks and pinch and squeeze them lightly, making her face turning into funny shapes, “Aw, I missed you! You little cutie!”
You’re too deep in your “I love Natasha”space to notice everyone in the room either gasps or turns quiet while staring at you and Natasha. Tony Stark, the atheist, whispers you a prayer under his breath.
Then something surprising to them happens.
“I missed you too.” Natasha says scrunching her nose and leads your hands to hold her waist, “You want to shower first? I will make you some tea.”
“Shower then cuddles?” You ask and pull her closer.
“Shower then cuddles.” Natasha pecks your lips, smiling, “Go.”
You happily accept and walk out of the living room with a little hop.
Just like that, Natasha’s lips turns back to the straight line and glares at the mouth dropping audience, “Keep staring and I’ll scoop your eyeballs out and feed it to you.”
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mx Ev could I perchance request a list of the Classics (tm) of bagginshield fics foe I am a fool and dont know the Classics (tm)
of course! i'm so glad you asked ^^)
first and foremost if you haven't read Sansûkh by @determamfidd what are you doing go do that right now - sansukh is bagginshield and gigolas, told from the end of BOTFA all the way through the end of LOTR's appendices as Thorin Oakenshield wakes up after death and begins watching over Bilbo and eventually the whole fellowship. this fic is beloved of me and is just so so SO GOOD, yes it's long and daunting but i promise, you will not be disappointed
another classic is Prayers to Broken Stone by @avelera this, my friend, is the best beauty and the beast au you will ever read. in this fic, thorin holes up inside Erebor and becomes even further infected by his dragon sickness, and actually slowly transforming into a dragon! only bilbo is brave enough to reenter erebor and take care of Thorin in his terrific state! this one i love to death <3
Clarity of Vision by @mithen is an AU fic for the ages! in this alternate timeline, Erebor has never fallen and bilbo finds himself drawn into a quest to help heal the ailing King Thror! also, the sequel to this fic Clarity of Purpose is so fucking good and is also very iconic
An Expected Journey by @mariejacquelyn is a classic time travel au and is actually the very first fic on ao3 i ever read! (and has great influenced my preference for time travel aus since then) in this, bilbo makes a wish at the end of his life to go back to before the quest and save Thorin, Fili and Kili, well, he gets his wish, but finds it hard to hide his origins........
How the West Was Won and Where it Got Us by stickman i think about in the wee hours....... this non-linear fic examines Bilbo and Thorin's relationship as grad students in a modern au. This one is rife with family drama and that good good angst
Nothing Gold Can Stay by @perkynurples is a fucking iconic work of writing! a modern au, Bilbo ends up working as a tutor for two royal nephews, and falling in love with their Uncle while doing so
Homesick by @andhumanslovedstories is a Post-BOTFA au where Bilbo gets mysteriously ill, Thorin goes on a journey to bring Bilbo back to the Shire and things get a little complicated along the way
A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes by @diemarysues is a wonderful cinderella au where Bilbo magically turns into a dwarf, meets Thorin, and falls in love <333
and last one for flavor is Heartbeat of the Mountain by chrystal896 an au where no one died in BOTFA but Bilbo left anyway, years later he realizes there's no future for him in the shire anymore, so he leaves for Erebor, with a young Frodo in tow
there's loads more than just these, but these were the first classic ones i could remember off the top of my head :))
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